The Ball and the Cross eBook

Turnbull was the first to leap into the garden, with
an earth-spurning leap like that of one who could
really spread his wings and fly. MacIan, who
came an instant after, was less full of mere animal
gusto and fuller of a more fearful and quivering pleasure
in the clear and innocent flower colours and the high
and holy trees. With one bound they were in that
cool and cleared landscape, and they found just outside
the door the black-clad gentleman with the cloven
chin smilingly regarding them; and his chin seemed
to grow longer and longer as he smiled.

XVIII. A RIDDLE OF FACES

Just behind him stood two other doctors: one,
the familiar Dr. Quayle, of the blinking eyes and
bleating voice; the other, a more commonplace but
much more forcible figure, a stout young doctor with
short, well-brushed hair and a round but resolute
face. At the sight of the escape these two subordinates
uttered a cry and sprang forward, but their superior
remained motionless and smiling, and somehow the lack
of his support seemed to arrest and freeze them in
the very gesture of pursuit.

“Let them be,” he cried in a voice that
cut like a blade of ice; and not only of ice, but
of some awful primordial ice that had never been water.

“I want no devoted champions,” said the
cutting voice; “even the folly of one’s
friends bores one at last. You don’t suppose
I should have let these lunatics out of their cells
without good reason. I have the best and fullest
reason. They can be let out of their cell today,
because today the whole world has become their cell.
I will have no more medieval mummery of chains and
doors. Let them wander about the earth as they
wandered about this garden, and I shall still be their
easy master. Let them take the wings of the
morning and abide in the uttermost parts of the sea—­I
am there. Whither shall they go from my presence
and whither shall they flee from my spirit?
Courage, Dr. Quayle, and do not be downhearted; the
real days of tyranny are only beginning on this earth.”

And with that the Master laughed and swung away from
them, almost as if his laugh was a bad thing for people
to see.

“Might I speak to you a moment?” said
Turnbull, stepping forward with a respectful resolution.
But the shoulders of the Master only seemed to take
on a new and unexpected angle of mockery as he strode
away.

Turnbull swung round with great abruptness to the
other two doctors, and said, harshly: “What
in snakes does he mean—­and who are you?”

“My name is Hutton,” said the short, stout
man, “and I am—­well, one of those
whose business it is to uphold this establishment.”

“My name is Turnbull,” said the other;
“I am one of those whose business it is to tear
it to the ground.”

The small doctor smiled, and Turnbull’s anger
seemed suddenly to steady him.

“But I don’t want to talk about that,”
he said, calmly; “I only want to know what the
Master of this asylum really means.”